Sunday, February 23, 2003
The body smashed against the concrete wall dully.
The boy's hands remained forced outwards, demonstration and signature upon his blow towards the smaller child. This child...who the hell did he think he was? He shows up, half dead, and thinks he can order those who are SUPERIOR OFFICER'S about? He examined the child. The face was battered, like a broken reflection, obviously totured by whatever creation had tormented him. But this child...he did not even have a representative! He managed to crawl to their door, and the Institute healed him, yet now he responded in a fashion of dominance? Eating their food...? Not even part of the Insitute...!!!
"I think you'd best learn where you place yourself, boy. We have our own form of hierarchy about here, stranger, and if you wish to continue with the hospitality, you'll learn it."
The boy's grinned widened, the bruised lips convuluding against the blood-crusted teeth, and the contorted muscles jerking of his arms, as his eyes slowly rose, meeting Jemal's own. Jemal met the eyes quietly, as a slight acknowledgement rippled within him. This boy...whatever he had faced, it was indeed worthy of assistance. The eyes...were empty. Empty, frozen, yet seeming to maintain a stasis of pain beneath the ice. And yet the grin remained relevant beneath.
Said the boy slowly, "A man who depends on Heirarchy is pathetic; a man upon whom hierarchy depends is a hero. You'd do well to remember that. I don't need your hierarchy..I believe I'll make it fine here myself."
Jemal's fingers curled into a fist, as his eyes flared. HE was A SUPERIOR OFFICER. They LOOKED UP TO HIM. He held respect, a reputation suspended tediously upon his own discipline. He could not allow this...
"Wait...your a member?"
The boy's blackened eyes rose emptily, darkened beneath even their ironic halos, "Yes."
"Heh. Heh. Heh. Well, then, buddy, guess you ain't a stranger after all. I think it'd be best if you learned the WAY about these places. Stand up." Jemal's grin widened, the insanity silently suffocating the insecurity. Yes, he would show his clear display of power once more!
The boy stood slowly. Broken, decrepit...one blow would destroy him, would shred the remaining pride to which he so futiley clung. Jemal summoned up the efficent precision that he been delivered upon him by this very institution which he defended against this intruder. In one motion, he swung his fist into the boy's temple.
The head snapped the side. The fist richottetted off it from the direct strike, but Jemal allowed it to suspend lightly in the air before the boy's cocked skull, before the revealed neck, the broken skull...
The boy remained standing.
His head, cocked slightly to the side, did not shift, did not quiver, nor did any of his muscles...infact, as Jemal quietly contemplated, none of them had...they had remained perfectly maintained, not the slightest shift, fluxuation even of shock...
The boy's eyes slowly opened. Blood trickled quietly from his ear, drooling emptily across his cheek in a single tributary, sliding towards his lips. Empty. Always empty. They met Jemal's silently, who slowly lowered his fist.
The action was soundless as the boy slowly rose his skull.
"You..." Jemal felt the insanity ebb, permitting the fear to once against infect his judgement, "NO, no, I'll show you now!"
THe flat of his fist smashed into the boy's face. THe wall was crumpled against as the skull snapped back against it, forming with the steel. The boy's unresisting body shifted slightly to compensate, bending as the blow joined him with a dent now upon the wall. Jemal's fist slowly retracted, blood whipped blindly across it, empty screams of agony, dripping silently down his wrists. Yes...the boy's body was bent backwards, hanging limply upon itself, obviously, as the skull was driven into the metal wall. Yes...he had displayed his prowess, his power...
The body, in a single, fluid motion, rose forwards. Perfectly straight. The bones crumpled beneath the flesh of his skin did not flinch, the muscles did not twitch, as the eyes slowly opened, uneffected. Empty.
"Dear god...what...what the hell happened to you?" Jemal's voice hissed outwards, lungs exhaling as the fear finnally flooded his bloodstream, the effcts demonstrating across his reason. Then...the anger, as he began to realize. The others..the others within the cafeteria, in which this had all began, when this small boy had questioned JEMAL'S OFFICIAL RIGHT to sit as his ordained table...and now...now...his respect, the others were understanding, understanding...as they began to laugh.
The boy's lips slowly widened, maneauvering across the degraded terrain the muscles once knew, "What's wrong friend? Can't you hurt a small, crippled child? Can't you hurt me? Or are you just to DAMN weak."
Jemal's eyes stared blindly forwards, the sudden realization engulfing his mind. Enveloping his logic within it's disorienting rant...
"No...no...not your...not your chair," Jemal whispered, but ever so silently, he lifted his own tray from the disputed position of tables, and quietly walked another.
Just as silently, the boy, lips and eyes bleeding, yet utterly devoid of acknolwedgement, returned to his seat.
The crowd, laughing halted, suddenly dispersed, as if confused as to why they had ever converged originally.
And the small boy continued to eat.
Saturday, February 22, 2003
"So what the hell ARE you saying, Michael? What the hell are just trying to tell me?" The commander's eyes flickered across the mere cadet, trembling against the ageless wisdom and pain that rested beyond the pupils. The commander shook his head; their end was steadily descending, annhilation the destitute dominion that forever had plagued his vicinity. From birth he was born to fight within these wars...
"No, sir, I'm not saying it's an army...it's...it's...it's him. It's one of him, to say..."
The commander's eyes flicked upwards, his lips uncurling slightly, a hideous fear rippling across the surface of his flesh that caused the cadet to visibly tremble. Not his commander...dear god, not HIS commander, afraid...yet the twitch within his eye, the undulating flicker of his eye-brow...it was there..
"What...what are you trying to say?"
"Akira's hand, sir. I believe one of the fingers has finnally reached us."
THe commander's glance hollowed, as the final swaps of courage deserted him, "Don't let him in, Michael. Order the troops...murder the bastard!!!"
Michael gazed down solemnly, eyes crinching in his sudden acceptance, "Well, sir, that's the other half. There all dead. All of the soldiers. The guards...at the front, dead. We didn't know...the camera's...they were...tampered with, sir, a repetitious film, I don't know how he did it, bu-"
"Dear god, Michael, he's the best in the world, tha'ts how."
"Y---yes, but, repition, I was in the control room," THe man's eyes wandered dully towards the brown door in the side of the brick office, a cell in which the prisoners were soon to die. The door to the control room...kept so protectively within ear-shot of the Commander...yet...the brain had failed, despite.
"You re-established the Cameras?"
"Yes. There-----there all gone sir. I don't know how...they're just, GONE. It's as if they don't exist. They've been hidden somewhere beyond ALL of our camera's ranges-"
"-mother of god how long has the bastard been planning this-"
"-and...when the Camera's came on...we...we sort of just saw him. Picking the lock to the Outer Door."
"THIS OUTER DOOR?" The commander's face audibly contorted, resisting the freezing sense of death steadily approaching.
"Yes...the office outer door. He sort of turned his face uwpards...and smiled at us. It's too late. He has the next two doors to go through...then this one. Sir...we have to stand against him."
The commander gazed downwards. America...my god, the glorious truly had not prevailed, succumbing the miserable damnation that the other World soverignty's suffered...total control by Akira, by the Empire...no...AMERICA WAS THE VICTOR. THEY were the glorious. They held the rebellion alive...how could...after the 100's of battles he, John Tres...he was the glorious leader, the wall before the onslaught wave of blood that was the empire...
And one man. The empire had finnally grown weary of it's meager attempts. Akira had decided to shred the rebels establishment with his own, bare hand.
The commander's eyes slowly met Michaels, "Michael, you are aware that there is an escape route...the back...take William, flee, now."
"Sir...I won't do that. I will not LIVE in a world controlled by that bastard...we will stand together and die if need be. I won't leave sir."
"No...that is not the point. You have to rally the remainders...flee, just like the origins of the rebellions. Remember...the founding. Flee into the sewers. Even Akira will have trouble allocating you within that labrynth. Gather as many supporter's as possible...and...and make things as difficult as possible. American, and we our it's western edge, is a beautiful rose, we must always remember. And only a fool grasps blindly at the rose by the stalk."
"...yes...yes sir. But why not you as well? Please sir, your guidance..."
"He's going to break through within a few minutes," The commander eyed the door dully, a train slowly approaching, unable to halt, skidding blindly forwards like a bullet, "I hope to make things slightly harder on Akira as well. Perhaps he will find uprooting America more difficult with a crippled hand."
The commander slid a drawer, subtley contained within his desk, outwards, revealing a finely crafted pistol, two initials engraved into the silver handle, the body carved of mettalic black, quietly reflecting both victim's and muderer's pupils. John silently met his own eyes.
"Yes...yes sir."
"Go, now, Michae-"
Michael's head exploded.
The blood sprayed across the Commander's eyes, instantly blinding him as he, the final remaints of his reflexes reacting, strove for the gun. He vaguely heard the Brown Door's hinges scream as William emmerged, his vague and indistinct yell of alarm at the gun-shot. Another gun shot, and this time, it was no longer strange and indistinct. And it was far worse than a yell. The commander forced his eye-lids to unfold against the agony of blood-twined bone spread across his countenance. William...body crumpled against the door, blood quietly pumping from behind his lips...and...and...
The pistol nestled gently against the commander's neck.
"None of them ever saw me, Commander," The voice whispered, "No one ever will...this is the will of Akira you face, and by flaunting it you have done nothing more than bring this inevitable consequence upon yourself."
The commander's hand snapped outwards, towards the pistol, the singular pistol which represented honor, had maintained it's position by his side through all of the years, his symbolic glory...
The knife wagged blandly from his hand as the organ twitched, pinned against the desk. The and began to bleed, spreading across the dagger, as the commander gazed dully towards it. His forefinger was lightly caressing the pistol's hilt as it spasmed, a dyeing fish.
"No, commander. This is the end, of everything. America...you gave us quite a battle...but then again, you held total advantage. Distance, knowledge, defense...but here, you can see, that Akira is capable of overcoming all obstacles which stand in OUR way."
THe commander's voice hitched against his throat, barley audible, purposeless and acknowledging it's category, as death's cold nozzle gently pressured his vein, "The Democratic Alliance, you realize...they will defeat you. You have only our western edge. America will not surrender...we are a rose...the others will stand as well...and by god Europe is not yours yet..."
"Heh...Europe has always been ours, my friend."
"You will soon discover the consequences of grasping a rose."
"There is nothing that we fear; your thorns are no more."
The commander's eyes slowly widened...his smile jerked across his face, despite the screaming agony erupting from his writhing palm, "No...that's not true. Because I remember what you fear. I remember hte battles...I remember what they look like."
"SHUT UP, my friend. Accept your death QUIETLY."
"Hahahahah, oh there's something you fear alright, and in the end, that's exactly what will destroy you. Not Europe, not the Federation...just a one group of five men. The Hand of God will break your devil's paw."
"Don't die with hope, YOU STUPID BASTARD!" The source of the voice still invisible, a knee collapsed into the Commander's kidneys. He felt one pop within him, an odd, empty sense, almost like a hunger through the agony of the blow, as the organ dissolved, "There all DEAD. ALL OF THEM!! DEAD!! THEY CAN DO NOTHING!!!"
"One of them isn't. You could never possibly kill at least one of them."
"SILENCE!! DO NOT CHALLENGE AKIRA!!!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, YOU'LL NEVER BEAT ONE OF THEM, BECAUSE I SAW HIM, I SAW HIS EYES, HE IS THE KEY, HE WILL NEVER DIE!! I FOUGHT BY HIS SIDE, I KNOW WHAT HE IS CAPABLE OF!! HE----WILL---NEVER---DIEEE!! IRIESHU, MY TOTAL FAITH MY FRIEND, RESTS WITHIN YOU. EUROPE RESTS WITHIN YOUR HANDS!! SHOW THEM THE FOOLISHNESS OF ATTEMPTING TO GRASP A ROSE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH SHOW THEM IRIESHU!!! HAHAHAH SHOW THEM HAHAHAH-"
THe commander's face connected dully with his desk, nose instantly snapping, blood propelling from his throat. He watched through the darkening haze of his life-less, graying eyes the figure quietly exit through the venting in which he had entered...venting, of course, how foolish...sliding away into the darkness. An unharmed finger. The commander's mind slowly faded inwards as the blood pooled beneath his cheek, but he no longer saw the world. He no longer felt the pain.
There was only the rose before his eyes.
And his faith within its final thorn.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Survivors.
The cross-hairs danced quietly across the creatures, what Jim had always defined as carcasses, for none ever achieved more once they had been captured within the empty rifle's gaze. He had trailed the Praetorian silently, as it dissolved the empty, greenish sky above them, and disrupted the sanctuary of the dead, chared and dissolved as they may be.
Jim, one of the five fingers of Death's Hand, the Imperial's elite, five member troop. He alone was capable of annhiliating entire squadrons; his training exceeded the limitations mandated by the god's, and achieved their own divine definitions established by his own lord, his own mind. Death's Hand...yes, they were to never know one another, never to greet the other digits which comprised their existence. Their only connection to the others radiated from the Palm...Akira...the central figure...they recieved their orders silently, and completed them without the slightest concern as to the effects. They were emotionless, family less, bondless; none knew their names, and they did not associate with human beings unless it was to annihilate them. None knew of Death's Hand; Akira alone was aware of their existence. They handled all matters; initially, and commonly, each Finger was an assasin, and would touch the quivering, horrified brow of whomever the palm deemed. But this had been during the Earlier days, before the revolution. During the months of the establishment, during the Palm's steady rise to power, the Organization had been established; Each member that existed now had always been. They would never be replaced; the Palm understood this, and with this acknolwedgement, the fingers were aware. Although Jim was unaware as to whether the Hand was unharmed, it was unlikely, if the others were as efficent and skilled as himself, that it was. IF it ever should be, if one of hte fingers should be removed, the palm would not reestablish itself. If all of the fingers should be amputated by the Palm's enemies...
Jim shook his head quietly, his dark hair spiraling limply across his forehead, as he persisted in studying the two...a man, he had obviously been the Helicopter's driver...and a child, interestingly...yes, the child was a survivor the blast. He had not aniticipated this many children would have survived. Jim had been commanded to eradicate any survivors within the radiuses of the Nuclear Barrage that the Imperials had instigated. He had spent, currently, 2 days within the confines of the wasteland, and would bound to leave today, as the three day period was concluding, and any survivors he had not discovered would have perished. He had found the initial survivors easily; they had wandered dazedly, sobbing, screaming, or perhaps dull, eyes devoid of existence but for the flash...
He did not waste his energy with finess. He had filled the survivors with sufficient lead, unconcerned with the machine gun's blasts, simply enjoying this reprieve from the common toil of his existence. Children, screaming for their parents, scraping upwards through the rocks...he placed the rifle against their tear-filled eyes, as they begged for help in the disgusting way that children do, completely dependent on others, and watched as their meager skulls dissolved and the brain was unbinded, spraying against the rocks like an ocean wave. Some he shot in the stomach; he enjoyed the transformation of their joyous, relieved, elated grins mutating into hideous, silent screams of betrayl. As they toppled to their knees...they had survived the greatest weapon man had ever designed...yet, it simply displayed how the truly most destructive weapon was a man himself. He could eliminate that which even the blast did not eradicate...Death's Finger was direct, unhesitating, completely accurate.
The small boy was being steadily loaded into the Helicopter...was the fool attempting to leave the site? Why had the bastards sent this soldier here in the first place? NOT to simply get one, random survivor...even if it was a child...
He did not know the demands of the authorities above; he knew only the broad desires of the Palm. And the Palm wished for the Annihilation of the Enemy Forces. And this man...this boy...they were the enemy forces. Yes...
Jim slowly fixed the rifle upon the man's skull, the bullets silent, viewing, patiently aware that they would soon be fed...
Jim could then steal the Praetorian (He was an Elite...there was no machine, nor attribute the world, that he was not SLIGHTLY proficient in) and deliver it quietly to the Imperial Marines...no one would ever be aware that the Hand had yet again been at work, yet the Technology of the enemy would be within it's grasp.
Jim smiled dimmly, as the white haze slowly settled across his brain, as it always did. As the cross-hairs nesstled into position on the man's skull, every skull unique, every skull with it's perfect place for the bullet to sleep...
His digit quietly closed upon the trigger.
And Death's Finger slowly uncurled.
Saturday, February 15, 2003
He awoke without feeling.
He awoke within a bed.
He awoke...within a room.
Tyeko sat up.
The nurse shrieked, her hands jerking in terror and toppling the pyramid of Cards that she had been building on her desk. DEAR GOD!!! The kid was awake!! The cards fluttered unconcerneedly to their resting place below, as the Nurse simply stared forwards in amazement. The kid was sitting up. Sitting up. Eyes, oh god, what was wrong with his eyes, intaking the surroundings...calculating, clearly...dear god...the kid shoudl not be able to move...his body should litterally writhe at the slightest jolt, all logic denied this occurence, she thought, as her hands dug blindly through a drawer within her desk, which faced the octangular room and the 16 beds which categorized a similar shape against the permiter...her fingers closed around the edge of a manilla folder. She jerked it out of it's container, and quickly spread it across the bed, as the boy's eyes turned towards her. She did not wish to meet those eyes...she felt them graze her body, even as she spread the images of the boy's skeletal structure out before her, felt them pass across her with the same concern he gave to a wall.
She gazed at the photographs.
His arms were both shattered at the elbow; only the shoulders were capable of rotating. His muscular structure in his back was dissolved; it could function, but...no, no human being could survive the agony...his legs were shredded, not internally, but bloated with bruises. His pelvis was in two seperate shards. His left testicle was crumpled, while the other remained barely intact, which, although she as a woman could never REALLY guess, must cause such an uncategorized pain...
Yet...yet...she slowly rose her eyes from the impossible photographs to the equally existent child. He had slid the covers aside...was examinging his own naked body, prodding at his legs with an empty, unconcerned focus. He slid his hands across his chest, clearly placing pressure on seperate areas, testing...shifting the broken bones without the slightest concern...oh god, who was this child, WHAT was he...who had done this...
"Where am I?"
THe voice...the voice pierced the room, yet at the same moment seemed to defy the boy's presence. It was scratched, broken, churning in his throat (She gazed at the X-rays, which clearly displayed a crumpled tracia), the only weakness...and she watched as the boy's own eyes, brusied and blackened like the rest of his face, narrowed in anger at the sound.
"WHERE AM I?" He stated, forcing aside the sludge-like pain that corrupted his air.
The woman gazed speechlessly forwards...eyes filled with awe and terror...somehwere within her mind, she remembered another being to which these two descriptions were applied which these...
Something flickered within the boy's eyes...as if a rock had cracked, and he viewed the world beyond it for a brief moment. His eyes softened...
"I'm sorry," He stated, struggling to force a smile across his lips, "I...I just wish to know where I am. I'm slightly confused..."
(He's using you) The thought whispered through his mind, but was set aside as pity flooded her heart, "Oh, of coruse you are! My god, you must BE. Well, boy, I'm not so sure you'd understand, but...well, your in...umm...well, they don't really have a name for it," She felt her voice rise in embarrassment, and yet, under his eyes, softened as they may be, this weakness felt horrific, disgusting even to herself, "Your in a place called the Institute," her voice hardened, "It's located in...well, the center of Canada, to be precise. It's an area for children, who are entering into the military during these times of war, to continue their training. It's an army camp for kids, in a sense."
The boy nodded slowly, and, even more frigthening, was the fashion in which his purpled lips slowly curled into a thoughtful smile. An understanding smile.
"Yes," The boy whispered, the nurse seeming to dissolve into nothing more than the backround yet again, the eyes rehardening, sealing themselves, "Of course I am."
And with that, the boy met her gaze once more...and collapsed limply back against the matress, passing almost as if by whim (perhaps it is) into sleep...
The nurse simply gazed forwards, mouth still hanging limply in the estranged sense of awe...
Then bent down slowly to scoop up her cards.
Tyeko dove to the left, his body contorting in the air as the spear slammed into the tree-trunk behind him, ripping it's bark open like a human neck. He rolled, struggling to remain silent as he hurtled into the shrubbery. Two Weeks...it had been two weeks since he had been stranded in he forest, body dissolved to a pulp by the destructive truculent force of Irieshu. The bastard must have been watching, ever vigilant, his progress as he healed...the day he was capable of standing up, Irieshu struck. Using a bat, he had struck Tyeko across the skull, spiraling the crafted shard of wood upwards and unleashing the resulting motion upon his spine. Tyeko's mind had exploded, dissolving into the horrific agony of the days before, but Irieshu had not allowed it...he had claimed that if Tyeko did not fight, then he would die. That he would destroy him, his small mind, and his worthless body. He had not seen Irieshu beyond the guise of agony, only the blurred motion of his hands as they spun the bat yet again into his ribs. Tyeko had crawled to the forest from the cave that at one time had offered such refuge, as Irieshu continued the barrage, perpetual, striking his skull, the blind warmness of Death reaching out it's inviting hand, beckoning in it's soft, reassuring voice that it held the answers...
Irieshu had struck him again. Again. His body contorting on the Earth, mind shrieking against the agony that split his nerves like discarded strings...when it touched the inner soul. The rage. Buried by the fear, buried by the embarrased terror and the meanginless resistance...it felt the surface. It touched the mind quietly, whispered to it to remain silent...that this was its time.
In one, explosive motion, using the final energy that relayed through his seneses, Tyeko had spun his foot upwards, sharpening the toe to a blade, and driven into Irieshu's face. The man's neck had snapped backwards, eyes instantly blinding, devoid of conscious thought, and toppled backwards, blood spraying from his nose.
Tyeko did not know how his body had manage to perpetuate it's resistance...to drag itself into the forest to hide, beneath the shrubs, never emmerging, the Rage, the only function of his thought, paradoxically calculating and considering, as his mind struggled to heal the shredded vessel.
2 days later...he was healing...hiding...Irieshu found him.
And the battle insued again.
And yet again the forest was his sanctuary.
And the next day, during the twilight hours of light's surrender...again.
And so it had followed.
Tyeko did not feel his body any longer...the battles were empty of agony. A statement of "Pain" came only as acknowledgement that for Today's battle his left arm would not move, or that his legs were useless. There was only the rage, guiding him onwards, always understanding that to halt the endless pattern, he would be forced to kill...to kill...
And it had simply continued...he fought Irieshu...and he fled, never attempting to kill, waiting only for the correct moment...
And followed until today.
He struggled to slide beneath the shrubbery as he sensed the bat shatter the bushes, inches to his left. Smoothly, ignoring the agonizing protest from his muslces, he spun the left. Sound...he knew, it was barely the slightest twist of a dead leaf...but...
The pain exploded within his kidneys. His eyes traveled quietly, empty of the pain, towards the motion of bat, slowly lifting, blood sprayed across it's tip, from his side. Tyeko twisted the muscles within his arms, forced himself upwards to his feet in one motion. They were steady...today, they were healed, bending lnly slightly the under the responsibility to that above. His right arm hung limply by his side, the bone jerking blindly within the flesh. His left arm...yes...that was the only one...
Irieshu had risen from the bushes. He slowly spun the bat in his fingers, rotating the shard forwards.
He dove forwards.
Tyeko...did not feel his motion. He knew only that his brain must comply with the rage, that this guided his perception, his mind, all forwards, and perhaps it was not even the rage anylonger...simply himself, the consciousness above his own understanding. He spun to the left as the bat shredded the air which had once contained him; the bat rotated at a 90 degree angle, hurtling towards his chest; Irieshu flipped forwards, one motion, unthinking, unconcerned, the fear and doubt set aside. He dodged the bat...eyes empty, cold, sightless, he rounded his fist through the air. In one single glance, his mind calculated; Irieshu's motion was still carrying him forwards, it would be a half second before the man could maintain control, his own fist was risen upwards, his own body still spiraling through the air...so slow, frozen before his eyes...
He drove his fist outwards from his spinning body, drove it into the side of Irieshu's skull.
Irieshu toppled backwards, blood spraying from the side of his eye, as the bat snapped from his fingers, dissingrating against a sacrificed tree.
Tyeko did not land. His foot touched the Earth...but simply continued. He reversed motion, ignoring the rending effects upon his muscles which aquiesced without the slightest concern to their own being...and drove his fist into Irieshu's bleeding eye, burying the first inwards, entire focus upon the flesh that would pop, spray like a ballon filled with blood, across his fist...
The leg struck him across the face.
His eyes emptied, pupils contracting into meree pinpoints against the pain, as his temple exploded, his bone structure dissolved. A roundhouse...with the side of his foot, was all that registered...he felt his body, propelled by the blow, smash against a tree. Felt his body slide downwards, empty, even the rage unconscious against the agony...he had not slept, feared far to much...he could not handle any longer, his last chance...broken...no...he simply wished to surrender, to sleep...the bastard...he had been his friend...his friend...
Ireishu stood silently before his crippled remains. The man gazed downwards, sun reflecting dully across them from the tree's above...so, it was day, Irieshu considered mildly, he was going to die during the sun-lit hours, under the burning scrutiny of the firey lord himself... yes, that seemed far more fitting...
Irieshu gazed simply downwards at the boy, rubbing his eye, crumpled inwards to the skull, the bone shrunken against the flesh...
there was something odd about his face, however...Tyeko could not identify it...it was so strange, something about the lips...they were curved very strangely...his mind struggled to comprehend it...it seemed obvious, the answer...but hidden beneath the layers of pain...
And, for the first time in those 3 weeks of agony, which constituted his entire life it seemed, Irieshu spoke, "Very, very good."
And, with that, the face was gone, the strange curve was dissolved...and Irieshu's face collapsed into the side of his skull, spreading his brain open beneath it's shell for the darkness to finnally contaminate.
And, inwards it did come.
Monday, February 10, 2003
"You're the only one who can save us, Irieshu. You know that as clearly as I, but if you refuse to accept it, we are damned. Damned, because this will not conclude; the powers are too well balanced...the American's are taking means to overthrow the current Imperial control, and the Imperials are foolishly preparing a massive force to "Finish off" their adversaries...but between both Forces, rests the one force that can conclude it all."
Irieshu's eyes flickered darkly towards the night sky, the stars gazing mournfully, shimmering with tears, as they viewed the failing planet quietly, pity the only emotion remaining, "It's sacrificing the future for the present."
"DON'T SAY THAT, Irieshu!" Steve's arm extended slowly, reaching towards Irieshu's shoulder, in one, smooth movement...and then, it was halted, Irieshu's fingers wrapped around his wrist as the arm quietly withheld any further trespassing.
"No, Steve. I've considered the master's now for a long time...they were perfectly prepared to sacrifice the future for the present, and unleash it upon us all. Opearation Atmosphere...it will destroy everything, do you realize that? THIS," Irieshu swept his arm engulfing the perspective, the ruinined burning cities that were visible across the dull horizon, the grayed vegitation purposeless before the waves of radiation, "THIS is nothing, NOTHING AT ALL, compared to the future that those after us will face. It will be horrific...you do not understand what Atmosphere is capable of. It will plunge our world into a whole new level of horror...and I've done nothing to prepare for this. No one but ourselves is capable of halting the undulations of that final action. I've done nothing...Nothing but make a wager."
"You'll win Irieshu; please stop this, I refuse to view you in this state..."
"Then go away, Steve," Irieshu rolled his eyes quietly towards the man, eye-lids constricting quietly about the pupil as it slowly forged into a jagged knife, "I do not doubt my own abilities, yet, if you require my confidence to fuel your own. This remains simple planning...but I am noticing the flaws produced long ago."
"The KID is strong enough, Irieshu. YOUR training him. He can do it; he's the one who will have to face it, and he WILL. He'll be your pupil; you can make him as strong as yourself!"
"Idiot," Irieshu whispered, his cold eyes meeting the stars', "That is the problem. I can't defeat that creature. Only one man ever could...and I have to build the child into that. I was spared, don't you see? The Master's, when they trained us, they did not destroy us. They understood, somehow, every element of their training, and treated it as an opreation. They removed my fear, my qualms, my emotions, everything about myself, except for my...heart. They left me with pity. And that is my weakness. ONly one man can defeat Atmosphere's reprecussions..."
"They're forcing you...those sick bastards. They're asking you to create a Master."
"Good to see you can still think, Steve."
Steve lifted his own palm before him, his pupils focusing dully upon it as hope dissolved, "We failed our mission entirely, Irieshu...we all surrendered...except for you. Why did they bother with us? What did we do? Nothing...we asisted in a few minor skirmishes...but they left the ultimate decision up to you. They ask you to end the war by yourself..."
Irieshu watched the stars sob silently above him.
"The kid is entering the institute tommorow."
Steve glanced upwards, "I thought...welll, I mean, Roberto and I, we we're thinking that it--"
"No, it's neccessary. Trust me; this will be it's last time. If he doesn't destroy the institute, then...then he's not good enough for us."
Steve's eyes widened slightly, as fear flooded beneath the widened membrane. Irieshu's lips curled quietly inwards, silently accepting that Steve was no longer strong enough to truly help him, "BUT IRIESHU, destroy the institute? What the hell are you talking about!?"
Irieshu shook his head slowly, as his lips twisted into a grin, shadowing laconic eyes, "You still don't get it? The master's placed us there, when they did, to see how we would react. We bonded together; we ruled the institute. But, that is all. We ruled it as our own kingdom, still accepting the servitude to the Master's, to those who placed us there, to SOMETHING. And the Master's, I believe, expected this. Required this. Well...it defined our weakness Early on. The kid has to take over the Institute, by himself, no guidance, on assistance, no legs. And...and he has to be able to take it one step further. He has to realize that the institute is nothing more than another tool I use to manipulate him. He will have to realize this without any assistance...and, once he has...somehow, I do not know, but I can suspect, he will have to destroy the Institute. He will have to defy me...and then we can move on to the true training."
"The kid...look, buddy, he's like 8 or 9, he's not going to be capable...with all the other kids, all as motivated, all as brillant...? He can't do it. He simply can't." Steve whispered.
Irieshu's empty eyes slowly lowered from the lamenting stars, and fused silently with Steve's own, "Well then, my friend, we are already dead."
"Even if the Kid's a failure...you would still go through with Atmosphere? Still take the Operation to it's conclusion!?...?" Steve's voice rose as fear twined within it's veins with it's poison.
"I can't stop it now, Steve," He whispered, and yet again turned his eyes towards the heaven, "I'm nothing more now than a fired bullet."
Steve shuddered against his own will, meeting the empty eyes which gazed so easily into the heaven's from the planet he might annhilate.
And above him, nothing more than the silently, sobbing stars.
Sunday, February 02, 2003
15 years ago.
"You can't protect your parents from us, you can't protect anything at all."
The knife glided gently along Irieshu's side, struggling to dig its tooth into his flesh, it's every motion a successive scream of lust for the blood that lay just beneath the surface. Irieshu's fingers curled tightly around it's hilt as well, two equal forces working upon a single object, at a single moment, the other weathered with strength. The blade slowly descended towards his stomach.
Irieshu gazed up into his master's eyes, all other perceptions ignored, his vision steadily focusing as the tears flowed gently down his cheeks, "Why----why are you doing this?! My parents...did NOTHING to you!! Why are you doing THIS!!!!" He tried to push the knife upwards. The man smiled grimmly, eyes devoid of life, of any sense, but the detailed map catrographied by ruthless fingers was imprinted upon the grey pupils. Irieshu had never seen eyes like that; he hated those eyes, hated their devoid confidence, their emotionless truth. No...this man could not defeat him, because he would never suffer those eyes.
The grass beneath his back was meanginess. Nothing else mattered; the master's had taught him this, taught over the past year through his beatings, through his courses in agony and leadership, command and individualism, that this was the only method to survival. But now? Now the Master had turned on him; a traitor, bent on annhilating the one thing that Irieshu held dear, the very item for which he fought.
His house lay behind him, empty, dark, sagging eyes of weariness watching the quiet display on the lawn before it. Within his house, Irieshu's parents slept benignly, no life coursing through their minds, their soul's naive, content with the latest announcement by their son, of his determination and his...contentness. That Irieshu was indeed enjoying his life, was WILLING to continue his training, as opposed to being manipulated by an unjust system.
No, his parents slept quietly, their thread not stirring.
As the blade slowly descended upon it.
The Master's empty eyes slowly smiled beneath their limpid pools, "Yes...yes, Irieshu, I suppose that I did expect you to try to stop me. None of hte others, Irieshu, will ever know who murdered their parents; none of the others will understand in the same fashion that you will. They will think that they were executed by the Empire, the evil Akirian overlord...but you, you will know the truth," The blade's poisonous bite slowly inserted itself into the flesh, just barely, tasting the organs beneath the surface, as Irieshu's mind shrieked in understanding, "AND THAT IS WHAT WILL MAKE YOU STRONGER!! Stronger than them ALL!!! Because you will know that it was not either side that cost your parent's their lives," Irieshu felt his organs writhe as if to dodge the blade as it forged it's path deeper, quietly searching, through the meaningless organs, beneath the pointless bones, towards Irieshu's horrified, crying soul, "YOU WILL KNOW THAT IT IS THE WAR ITSELF!!! That it is the WAR that costs everything; that it is not either side you must destroy, but the VERY BATTLE ITSELF!!!!!!"
Blood cataracted over Irieshu's lips, as his hands slowly limpened against the blade. The 13 year old boy stared blindly upwards, eyes still struggling to focus, on the 40 year-old master who had betrayed him. Irieshu could no longer see the hilt of the knife; the very object had conformed with his flesh, was floating delicately within his organs. The empty eyes stared down at him. How he hated those eyes...oh god, if he ever had those eyes, he knew that his life truly would be purposeless.
"All---," Irieshu choked, blood constricting in his throat as his brain slowly began to close, "ALL You care about is the war...you don't care about the people within it...you don't care about anything but winning..." the tears mixed blindly with his blood as it trickled from his eyes, thin tributaries winding their meaningless course, "And you want to win this? You can't...because you don't care about anything!! ANYTHING but winning...and that's what you want to make me. I...I WON'T LET YOU!"
"Of course you won't, Irieshu," THe master's eyes, for the first time that Irieshu had ever witnessed, slowly softened, "And that is why you will be the one who will save us. I can't win this battle for the reasons that you just described. But I can see the way to victory; the way to victory lays in your weapons. And now, boy, in you, I have dsigned the correct weapon; a man who will hate and understand as I do, but who still loves the people. After today, Irieshu, you will never find that you will not have the strength to pull that blade out of your stomach...today, you complete your training."
The master stood slowly. He turned his empty gaze towards the house. His foot rose slowly from the Earth, the apathetic grass mindlessly dyeing and surviving at the same moment crushed beneath, unconcerned but for the blood slowly feeding it...but a hand caught it. The Master glanced down slowly, yet again defying it's natural tendencies, his eyes showing surprise. Irieshu's finger latched tightly around his foot.
Irieshu forced himself upwards on his arm, eyes blazing, cold, damaged...but calloused. He had died; his eyes had been shredded, his soul dissolved, but now...now it was healed. Now it was...calloused. Irieshu ridgidly rose his hand upwards; he offered the master his own bitter smile as his fingers curled into a claw, and he thrust them into his open stomach. His fingers clenched, capturing the blade, ripping the meaningless tissue that surrounded it. The blade had reached it's destination...it had joined with his soul. In one motion, he unsheathed it from it's knew holster.
The Master's gaze emptied again, utterly devoid of life, of emotion, of concern. He slowly removed a blade from his own pocket. Spun it lightly through his fingers, facing the small boy, the creature who he knew would one day be the savior of this world. He nodded slowly, as his lips formed a sad, sad smile.
"You are going to try to stop me, aren't you boy?"
"I prefer to learn my mistakes without the casaulties," Irieshu whispered, blood trickling from the sides of his lips, his flesh sagging limply against the bone, as the shadows dripped like disease against the sunken skin.
"You're an amazing boy, Irieshu. Your going to save us all; you and this war are one, you realize? You are the anti-war! YOU are the one who hates this war...who offers a conclusion to it, and is willing to die to achieve this, because he realizes that he holds no purpose afterwards. But you are still weak; you still hold a heart for things before. And you still have a belief in this war. Irieshu...I can not hate, but I can understand. I can SEE what must be done here; that I will kill your parents, and that it is neccessary. I do not want you to be like me, Irieshu. If you are, I have failed. I will have succeeded, Irieshu, when you can see why this must be done, when you can understand why I must do it...and hate me for it all the same."
Irieshu felt his voice crack, the tears and blood unconcernedly spilling from his nose, drowning his lungs, Irieshu hurled himself fowards, blade risen within his hand in his lunge, to be driven forwards, all energy focused into this single strike, the tooth drawn back within the gums, he would succeed, he would protect them, the innocent, his family, those who did not deserve to die.."YOU BASTARD!!! I WILL FIGHT FOR WHAT THOSE WHO ARE INNOCENT!!!!!!!"
The Master spun his blade nimbly through his fingers, and, in a single twitch, flicked the blade forwards. It struck Irieshu between the eyes, shredding the bone, digging towards the Brain. Irieshu's body twisted in air as the force struck his head, his body snapped blindly against the confliction. He fell limply to the Earth, the blade trickling from his fingers like the blood that stained it.
The Master gazed quietly down at the boy, the boy who would awaken in a day, who would heal within a week, yet who was already their saviour now. He would fight for those who were innocent...
THe master gazed down at the child he had destroyed, "I would not have it any other way."
He turned quietly and strolled towards the home.
|
